


American Boy

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Character Death Fix, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Coming In Pants, Deepthroating, Dry Humping, Emotional Hangover Recovery Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Filthy, Fix-It, Frottage, Hop Has a Big Dick and It's Probably Canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jossed, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Rough Oral Sex, Size Kink, Smut, Stranger Trash Exchange 2019, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: The night which marks a month to the day of his return to Hawkins he wakes up with a start with no particular motive to his waking, all in the wee hours. His alarm reads 2:37 AM in bright neon, his throat is parched, and he has a hard-on for equally unfathomable reasons. He must have been dreaming, although his mind is one big blank when he ventures to recall what about.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82
Collections: Stranger Trash Exchange Collection





	American Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashcangimmick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Taylor! Thank you for being an enabler and an overall cool dude. This might be a couple of hours late off the initial exchange posting deadline, though I have the best excuse/explanation ever, I swear. ;)
> 
> Where Hop's characterisation is concerned, I went with something which harks back to S1/S2 more than to the latest season. In case this might come off as jarring given the S3 Hop "choices" contained therein.
> 
> Here's to more Bopper in 2020, amirite?!

The night which marks a month to the day of his return to Hawkins he wakes up with a start with no particular motive to his waking, all in the wee hours. His alarm reads 2:37 AM in bright neon, his throat is parched, and he has a hard-on for equally unfathomable reasons. He must have been dreaming, although his mind is one big blank when he ventures to recall what about.

Hop groans loudly in the darkness of his empty bedroom. Once it becomes apparent his brain has no intention to clock out anytime soon, he sighs every bit as frustratedly as the situation warrants, and finally hauls his ass out of bed and to the kitchen to make himself some coffee.

It's been ages since he's been awake to track an autumn sunrise from pitch darkness to actual daybreak, but the October sun rising over the yardarm is just as spectacular as he remembers it, all lit-up foliage and pale blue skies bursting from behind the dawn pinks. Not completely worth the price of admission in his book, and he'll likely pay for it later when he's grumpy and compensating with another batch of bad coffee once the mid-afternoon slump hits, but his body is as unlikely to fall back asleep right now as he is to start walking on the ceiling. Though stranger things _have_ happened. His being back, for instance.

Lighting himself another cigarette, he resolves to think less about the whys of his return and more about how he's going to break the news to Jane and Joyce and the rest of them out there in the wide world outside of Hawkins. About how soon that may be. His every cell aches to yell out that he's here, he's alive. He knows all the reasons he shouldn't, but it doesn't make it any less painful to be holding out on everyone he cares about in this way. It's an old story now, one he's been telling himself daily for the past month, but true nonetheless.

A noise from inside the cabin distracts him from that line of thinking and lets him know he's not the only one wide awake anymore. The noise also brings to mind the much more difficult conversation he's going to have to have regarding what currently accounts as his charge for all intents and purposes until some asshole springs up from the woodwork with a better idea.

"Sleep well?"

He takes another drag without turning around. He knows his voice carried deep into the house. It takes another minute before he's joined by the railing. He smells the coffee first, then he catches sight of unruly blond hair from the corner of his eye, sheared short and sticking up from recent sleep around the ears.

Billy clears his throat without following it up with anything else. He proceeds to tap his fingers against the railing at a steady rhythm, silent for several moments longer than Hop feels is strictly necessary in order to answer a simple question. He's holding his own mug of coffee loosely with his other hand, as if he's been in this exact same scene thousands of times before.

"Better than you."

Huh. Hop didn't make an effort to stay particularly quiet earlier, didn't realise he had to. He turns fully to notice there are faintly purple half-circles beneath Billy's eyes. He still looks far too attractive for one single person, could look fashionably dishevelled after rolling around in mud for a week Hop figures, but there are definite signs they're both perhaps suffering from a little cabin fever, and maybe more besides given everything that's happened since early July. Getting back in one piece hasn't been the picnic Hop would have pegged it for.

To be fair, Hop would've been beyond delighted with heroically fighting his way back to his people out of a KGB-sponsored danger camp or similar, but getting neatly deposited through non-human means just outside of Hawkins conveniently by the highway with a teenager everyone thought dead and gone in tow doesn't leave him much room to complain. The rest is just life being a big barrel of shit rolling down a hill towards him at top speed, as per usual.

They have plenty of time to kill here, but it feels like eons before Owens is going to finally call him up to confirm he's managed to make arrangements for a new life for them somewhere far enough away to make their return count. It's clear to Hopper there's no universe, no reality, in which he can go about his merry way being Chief of Police in Hawkins once more, consequences-free. There's also the matter of Jane being gone, and damn it all if Hop won't do anything in his power to get her back, to be the dad she's always deserved.

There's also the little matter of a stray teenager stuck in a town where he has zero family and even fewer prospects, where everyone thought him dead. The Hargrove-Mayfields packed up and left quietly enough shortly after the Byers, and they could conceivably be tracked down and reunited with the son and brother everyone thought lost, but Hop has the sneaking suspicion Billy would rather throw himself off a very high place than return to living in the same house as Neil Hargrove. Hop's heard stories; everyone he knows in Hawkins has. Not enough to prosecute without more tangible proof or Billy's testimony, but still plenty to have Hop itching to start something that would end with his fist through Neil's face.

"Doesn't look it." Billy avoids his eyes, staring straight ahead the entire time. Sighing, Hop clenches his eyes tight, and then opens them back up, resolve in place. "Breakfast then. Eggs over easy. Toast. I'll try to scrounge up some bacon." Owens might be dragging his feet when it comes to getting their situation sorted out, but he's been getting weekly fresh groceries delivered to them like clockwork for the last month.

He doesn't receive much of a reaction. Just Billy humming noncommittally, "Hmm." Hop heads inside to get started on the food.

Saying he gets ambushed on his way wouldn't be an understatement. He barely makes it a couple of feet back inside the house before he hears the door closing behind him, stopping the flow of cold air inside the cabin, swiftly followed by Billy plastering himself to his back. The shared heat between their bodies ratchets up quickly when neither moves. Hop knows what's coming, has been sort of expecting it, but it's still a shock to know there's a willing body within reach. Faint reminiscences from his forgotten dream threaten to bubble up to the surface, but Hop tamps them down, focused instead on the here and now.

He ends up prodded towards his old couch with Billy at his back the entire time. It's only when he's turned around and palms push at his shoulders does he plant his feet.

"You're being a brat," he says, clearly enunciating his disapproval, but it lessens the impact when he's already got his arms shifting to the small of his back, fingertips grazing the swell of his ass.

Billy smirks. "Teach me a lesson then." His eyes zero in on Hop's lips, entirely unsubtle. Hop could care less right now, smashing his mouth against Billy's, licking his way inside and feeling him arch up against him with a thin moan.

His hands wander instantly, like magnets to every spot he can reach. He fucks his tongue deep and sucks on Billy's own to hear the sounds he makes, increasingly more desperate and bordering on mindless, while he gropes him carelessly, overstimulated from how fast the mood has changed and the frustration that's been festering since the last time Hop allowed this. Palming his cheeks towards the crease of his ass earns him another moan, deeper than the previous ones, and then a grunt as Billy's crotch humps against Hop's thigh, dick obviously hard already and seeking friction.

Hop gets distracted then, because the next thing he knows his ass is hitting the seat of the couch and he's glaring up at Billy, body suddenly chilled all down his front and his mouth sore. His dick wants to protest something fierce as well. Not for long, though. He watches as Billy's knees buckle and he goes down like a filthy dream.

Judging by the way he lists a little to his right side and catches himself with a well-placed palm by Hop's left foot he probably didn't mean to hit the ground with as much force as he did. His voice is pitched low when he mutters, "Breakfast of champions," and he's quick to right himself, thighs spreading wider to balance himself better before leaning forward to nuzzle at the front of Hop's house jeans, the pair he slips on when he couldn't give two shits about how he looks and only wants to be comfortable.

Hop really should put a stop to this, or at least make a feeble attempt at a protest, but he finds he doesn't have it in himself to kid either of them about how much he's not going to put his foot down once Billy's got him unzipped and half-hard in his palm, fingers only a little cold from the leftover October chill. He can only blink when Billy pumps him just the once to stop to smirk again, looking too self-satisfied when they've barely started. It lasts but a few seconds, and then he's mouthing his way from the head down the column of Hop's cock, all the way to his balls, has to nose his underwear out of the way to lick him there. And he goes up after hardly any time spent at it, seemingly hungry to get him down, which is what happens before Hop can even think to offer directions. It's good straight away, wet and hot, and dangerously prone to drive Hop out of his mind way too soon.

It's with that in mind that he merely sighs when he finds one of his hands already pressing down on one shoulder, not guiding exactly, more needing the touch to stop himself from jumping out of his own skin.

The rhythm is a little too sloppy right from the start. Between one wet suck and the next, it's got him fully hard within seconds, ready to pound, aching to empty himself in this willing little mouth. Billy uses one hand to balance on Hop's knee, while he leans the elbow on his other arm against the other knee to use that hand to hold Hop's cock to his mouth, jerking him from base to the circle of his mouth every couple of seconds. Neither would last long like that, which might be why Billy's already letting go, both palms now keeping him balanced on Hop's legs, presently sinking further down than he should.

Bullshit modesty aside, Hop knows he's a big boy; sinking into any willing body has always meant a tight, gripping stretch. Even just the head has Billy's lips stretched wide open, much less getting so much of him down, sucking his way closer and closer to the root, and the strain is plain to see in the small spasms periodically shaking his frame.

But Billy Hargrove's a little shit, won't give up until he has Hop where he wants him. It would be endearing on anyone else. Hop doesn't have time for that when trouble incarnate is sucking him at full-pressure while inching farther and farther down.

He tugs at his hair warningly only for a few moments, because if he's learnt anything about Billy Hargrove in the weeks since they started doing this it's that when he goes for something he wants Hop had better step aside and let him have it, especially when what he wants is usually Hop's dick on a platter. Or, as in this exact moment, down his throat, choking on it, spit everywhere, smeared around the edges of his mouth and running down his chin, mixing with the pre-come Hop feels like he's been leaking for ages now and the faint moisture where he's tearing up from the strain of getting it all down and keeping it there.

Something unclenches in Hop's chest throughout it all. The fingers he's got in Billy's hair lessen their grip, shift around until it approaches a scalp massage. The pressure around the tip of his cock becomes less frantic, stepping away from the edge of too much, although he can still feel the snug ridges at the back of Billy's throat against the glans. He must be painting Billy's tonsils with his pre-come, he's leaking so much now. The thought of that curls his bare toes where they're pressed to the cold, hard floor. It's easy to adjust his grip on Billy's head to guide it where he needs it in order to start fucking his mouth properly when Billy's just so fucking _ready_.

It's no surprise at all that Billy lets him, of fucking course he does; welcomes it, judging by the way he moans and grasps at Hop's knees. The rhythm Hop sets up it rough but steady. Spits keeps drooling out around the edges of his lips and the tears keep coming in bursts whenever Hop thrusts particularly deep inside him following a long stretch of more shallow pumps, and Billy looks more and more dazed the more his mouth and throat get used up by Hop's cock.

He could make it even more brutal, knows it for a fact it could turn real quick into a real shitshow. It'd be easy as pie to pull out merely halfway in order to push it into the softness at the inside of Billy's cheek instead and fuck his cockhead there, smearing his come into that pocket of flesh and watch Billy inevitably drool it out once they really got going.

He doesn't. He's a perfect gentleman about fucking Billy Hargrove's just barely legal mouth to watch him tear up from it over and over again.

It's not long before his balls begin aching with the need to pump his jizz in, his dick the hardest it's been since they started. He's not gentle when he sinks all the way in to the back of Billy's throat before letting go. He comes for a long time. It figures; they haven't fucked since the day before yesterday. He lets up earlier than he should, and he drags some of his come out with his dick to watch it dribbling down Billy's chin. He's not done coming his brains out yet, though, and the next spray catches on Billy's cheek, the last on his half-open lips. He uses his still-hard dick to smear it back down Billy's face near his open mouth, and it catches on his tongue several times when Billy lolls it out to lick up what he can directly from Hop's cock. He gathers what's within reach from around his mouth with his tongue before closing his mouth to swallow it all down.

Stopping to regain all of his faculties isn't an option when he has a lap full of horny teenager within moments. Billy doesn't try to kiss him, which Hop appreciates. He buries his face in his neck to bite and lick while he patiently allows Billy to hump his leg and drag his teenage cock harshly until he feels him spasming in his arms. He holds him through it, sucking beneath his jaw greedily.

Afterglow or not, Hop's stomach protests loudly after a couple of minutes. He grunts in agreement, but doesn't make any move to remove Billy from his lap. He'll slink away when he's ready. Point in fact, Hop feels him shifting around not long after, squirming to dislodge Hop's arms from around his back.

He stands to stretch, young muscles shifting beneath the loose sleep clothes Hop gave him to wear to bed, before smirking obnoxiously in that way he has which probably translated to more pussy than he knew what to do with since puberty hit and a couple of broken teeth from other assholes trying to show whose dick was bigger back when shit like that was what mattered most. Hop remembers not being all that different himself at that age.

A vividly dark mark shaped like Hop's mouth has already bloomed on the side of his neck where none of his shirt collars will manage to cover and the wet patch on the front of his sweatpants is obvious to anyone with eyes. The sight of both has Hop's dick valiantly twitching where it's still out in the chilly morning air of the cabin, so much so he almost misses Billy saying, "I'll get started on the eggs." His voice cracks on every other syllable, which Hop's dick appreciates greatly.

Hop doesn't stare after him as he walks out or reprimand him in any way. What would be the point? He lights up from a stray pack he finds by his elbow, lighter conveniently tucked between the cigarettes, and wonders not for the first time what the fuck he's even doing anymore.

But then the dual smells of food already sizzling on the stove and fresh coffee brewing next to it knocks such thoughts straight out of his head for the time being. He lumbers to his feet, joints creaking menacingly, and tucks himself away in his underwear, leaving his jeans unzipped, the dregs of his cigarette limply hanging at the corner of his mouth. It's barely morning. They've got more than enough time to kill.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [rhubarbdreams @ tumblr](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/) for anyone wanting to share in the filth with me.


End file.
